Ajax's Spear
by RadicalArsonist
Summary: The city-states of Valoran must unite together to face a new threat looming on the horizon, promising impending doom, originating from the Institute of War itself. Corruption. (Suggestions/corrections are welcome, from pairings to the storyline itself)
1. Prologue

**Greetings to the League of Legends Fanfiction readers. I've decided to begin a new story based on corruption in the Fields of Justice and paralleling it to Caitlyn's struggles to capture the elusive criminal "C". If anyone finds historically inaccurate depictions, please notify me immediately, either through reviews or PMs. Welcome to any suggestions, from pairing to the storyline. And as always, reviews are always appreciated, criticism included.**

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Piltover. Once a crime ridden city, despite being known as the City of Progress. Criminal scum and thieves littered the alleyways, knowing the valuable resources techmaturgical research and experimentation requires and yields. The city-state was an ideal location for loot and plunder, before the days of the Sheriff of Piltover came to existence. Notorious for purging Piltover of criminals, the Sheriff is both viewed in fear and admiration. Daughter of a wealthy statesman, Caitlyn first discovered her talents for her dangerous hobby when her father was assaulted and robbed on his way home. Determined to catch the thief, she took the family's rifle and singlehandedly hunted down the delinquent, all accomplished at the age of fourteen. After realizing the futility of discouraging her treacherous activities, her family protected her with the only way they knew how; Piltover's yearned techmaturgical devices. Renowned for nearly vanquishing crime in Piltover singlehandedly, the Sheriff is one of the most prominent figures in Piltover, if not the most. Her alluring beauty was also another factor to her distinction in Valoran. And such, she was invited to become a champion aligned with Piltover in the League of Legends, given the honor to compete on the Fields of Justice.

There is only one open case remaining for Caitlyn, and the sole reason for her acceptance to the invitation into the League, in order to hone her skills and gain reputation and influence. Before the League, Demacia desired her talents and services to track down a kleptomaniac who was involved in a series of high profile heists. Infamous for vanishing without a trace, and leaving an ornately decorated card at the scene, the bandit has become known simply as "C"; the letter adorned on the cards abandoned at the crime area. The daring burglar soon became the Sheriff's archenemy; to this day, she still searching for this elusive thief.

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Another day for the Sheriff in Piltover, responding to the occasional petty crime committed by some desperate mugger. She looked at the pathetic thief wriggling under her net, and shook her head with equal pity and disgust. She turned around only to see Vi hurl herself through the brick wall in her peripheral vision, showering the already cowering criminal with chips and shrapnels of brick.

"I'm going to have to begin charging the property damage recovery fees on your tab, Vi," Caitlyn sighed, irritated at her partner's blatant refusal to follow orders and recklessness.

Vi snorted at the squirming body now bleeding from the sharp chunks of stone, the dark red liquid mixing with plaster dust on his skin. "Why are you always so serious, cupcake?" she asked with a sloppy grin. "A stretch of wall is a decent price to pay for catching criminals, even these rotten ones."

"Let's head back, I'll get a deputy to pick him up," the Sheriff replied, gesturing to the captured thief with her rifle. She walked out of the dank alleyway and headed to the station, knowing Vi was probably taunting the poor fellow before she follows. Her radio chose to vibrate and buzz on her belt at that moment, and one of her deputies' voices reported to her, through the wavering connection.

"Sheriff, a certain anonymous reported to the Piltover Patrol of an apparent sighting of 'C', the description matching our last sightings. Black fedora and trench coat, possible suit or vest under, moderate height, good looking, steady and smooth gait. The Patrol sent a Rescue Bot to scout the location, and the sighting was confirmed. The device could not follow the suspect into a liquor bar, his apparent destination." He repeated the location twice.

"Copy that, I'm on the case." The Sheriff of Piltover turned her head sideways and talked to Vi, who was jogging to shorten the distance between the two. "We have a possible identification on 'C', we're heading over there. Try not to wreck anything important while we're there. I've worked hard for moments like these."

Vi gave her another grin. "Roger that. I'll try my best." She went quiet, then perked up again, a question on her lips. She was easy to read. "Do you think it's Twisted Fate? I mean, there's been rumors going on, you know." She looked at Caitlyn inquisitively, eager for her opinion.

"I don't think he would bother stealing prized possessions of Valoran, simply for the challenge set upon the task," was the Sheriff's stiff reply, with the usual tinge of a Piltover accent. "I guess we'll see," she added after some silence only interrupted by the rhythmic pounding of Vi's footsteps on pavement.

A mere five minutes later, the crime fighting duo arrived at a rather dull looking bar, despite displaying pristine white walls on the outside; they burst in and were greeted by equally bland looking faces, most of them staring into their drinks with expressionless eyes. Only a few heads turned at their entrance. A lone figure in black stood out from the otherwise dreary crowd, sipping periodically at his foamy beverage.

"Hands where I can see them, please," Caitlyn requested immediately, her sleek rifle aimed at the figure's head. As if to emphasize the Sheriff's point and the consequences of not submitting to the request, Vi smashed her Hextech gauntlets together, producing a hideous screech. The man turned around, revealing a crisp white shirt and an expensive inky tie under the drab coat. He raised his hands reluctantly over his head, sporting worn black leather gloves. Perhaps it was the sudden adrenaline, Caitlyn's senses were sharpened and she saw the numerous events that formed a coherent chain, happening then almost in slow motion. A frightened bartender knocked over the liquor he was sliding across the polished wooden tabletop to a customer, spilling liquid all over the surface. Seizing the opportunity, and also thanks to his astute observations, the man under scrutiny from the duo snatched the Hextech revolver from the belt of the person next to him, and in one fluid motion, no doubt practiced thousands of times, shot the iron chain holding the chandelier upright from the marble ceiling, sending forty pounds of candles, metal, glass, and glory shattering all over the worn floor. The roar from the revolver and the shriek from the collapsing chandelier jolted Caitlyn from her reverie rudely, and on instinct her finger flicked the trigger, launching a round through the chamber and sending it on a trajectory towards the suspect. She never got to check if her round hit its intended target. With an effortless move almost as natural as the grabbing of the revolver previously, the man was bathed and ignited in an emerald blaze, disappearing from sight, leaving only flickering green flames eating away at the wood and devouring the metal with a suspicious hiss similar to corrosive poisons. As if on cue, a piece of paper drifted across the devastating wreckage, landing and halting abruptly at the Sheriff's feet. Upon closer inspection, it was revealed to be a work of both delicate artistry and rare material, no doubt an expensive card, decorated with an intricate golden letter in the center: C.

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The Sabrethrones were one of the most wealthy families of Demacia, nearly rivaling the highly regarded Crownguards or even the Lightshields that ruled over the city-state. Adrian and Cecilia Sabrethrone had a single child, the clever and brilliant Allan Sabrethrone. His parents discovered his talent in dueling and literacy at a young age, enrolling him in the mandatory Demacian military at a youthful age of ten. Despite his age, he excelled at everything the military instructors could throw at him; after a decade of training and learning in Demacia's military institute, Allan Sabrethrone was positioned in the Dauntless Vanguard, led by the son of the Crownguards, Captain of the Guard Garen. He rose ranks quickly, soon becoming an ambitious Lieutenant and aspiring to become Garen Crownguard's successor.

But as always, tragedy soon befalls the zealous Lieutenant during the Dauntless Vanguard's intervention of Jarvan Lightshield the Fourth's execution by the ruthless Noxus warrior Urgot and his division. Prince Jarvan's platoon was ambushed by Urgot's division in Demacian lands, and him prepared for execution right on the battlefield. However, Captain of the Guard Garen arrives with his Vanguard in the nick of time, resulting in Urgot's death by the Captain, having been cleaved in half with Justice. Lieutenant Sabrethrone was pronounced missing and possibly dead after a subsequent head count revealed him to be absent. His body was never recovered from the combat zone.


	2. Chapter 1

**First chapter is here, I'll be cut off for awhile, attending SIG at Yale in a week. Please inform me if there's anything historically inaccurate here, as the Black Rose thing is a bit fuzzy. I'm compiling most of my information from the LoL wiki and JoJ.**

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On yet another routine day at Zaun, with polluted air emerging from the numerous factories so dense that visibility was near zero, a man emerged from a narrow passageway between two shabby industrial buildings. If one looked closely, which of course no one did, the man would have been clutching at his shoulder, which was bleeding profusely and staining his trench coat a deep dark red. Instead, he blended in with the morning rush of exhausted citizens and vanished in the sea of black and grey jackets.

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Caitlyn silently fumed inside her office days after the failed arrest. On the exterior, she was herself, with the cold calculating stares and mouth set in a firm hard line. On the inside, she was furious. The smug bastard had gotten away again, and left her another one of those damn elaborate cards. He was just taunting her now, she realized. There was no other point in showing up in Piltover with Noxian clothes, that is, a black coat and hat; he would've stood out like a firefly in the dark. The Sheriff noticed she was absentmindedly tracing the letter C with a manicured fingernail on her mahogany desk and abruptly stopped. She sighed, staring at her office wall and contemplated on her only remaining open case. Perhaps she was missing something, something obvious but easily overlooked. She would have to skim over all those files relating to the criminal again tonight. Just then, the amulet in one of her countless pockets on her leg straps began vibrating and giving off heat. A Summoner in the League had chosen her for a match; every Champion had one of those amulets for Summoning purposes. She stood up from her desk and rubbed her eyes softly, only to be brought to the preparation room to gather her weapons and armor. She saw her arranged team of Champions and scanned them over quickly: the Might of Demacia, Jarvan the Fourth, the Grandmaster at Arms with his trusty brass lamppost, and Ezreal, who she met occasionally in Piltover. Not too bad, she thought as she grabbed her rifle and cocked it. The five champions greeted one another before stepping onto the platform embedded with runes, taking a deep breath in unison before teleporting to the Rift.

Roughly thirty minutes into the match, and she was doing quite well. Her Summoner was more experienced than the most, and together they pushed the topmost lane in Summoner's Rift past two enemy towers.

"The Frost Archer sent a crystal arrow your way, step into the brush," the gruff voice of her Summoner commanded. She complied and was rewarded with a swoosh of a huge enchanted arrow comprised of ice soaring past her and shattering into countless pieces after contacting the boulders behind her. She was finally getting used to hearing the Summoners' voices as if they were standing right next to her. The spell was quite disorienting for newcomers.

"Jump to the middle lane, the Exemplar is in trouble," the rough voice instructed again.

"Copy that," Caitlyn replied, and traversed through the jungle and brush to find Jarvan IV about to be executed by the Darkin Blade. She aimed her rifle at the winged figure's head. "Calibrating," she whispered, taking a few deep breaths. On the third exhale, she released her shot and knew instantly knew she'd get a decent shot in. Aatrox dropped dead with his sinister blade just about to be brought down to Jarvan's neck. Overhead, the female announcer voiced her kill with passion and excitement. Jarvan looked at the shot's origin while dusting himself off and yelled a word of thanks.

"Anytime," she responded, before disappearing in the jungle again. Another fifteen minutes of putting pressure on the enemy and a few more wrecked towers, they eventually found themselves on the verge of victory. As a last ditch effort, the five enemy Champions grouped together and rushed the middle lane. Ezreal was slain before Caitlyn managed to arrive, shortly reinforced with the two Demacians and the Grandmaster. The opposing Miss Fortune tripped on a few of her traps before landing a barrage of bullets on Jax, while Jarvan extended his lance and cleaved a nasty wound on Aatrox's abdomen. LeBlanc sent out a doppelgänger together with Shaco, bringing chaos along the way as now there were seven enemy Champions instead of the beginning five. The Frost Archer was firing volley after volley of arrows, denting the ragtag group of defending four. The summoner's voice is in her ear again, demanding a retreat. Before she could turn, the scarred battlefield between the two teams suddenly lit up with olive green flames, immediately reminding her of the scene at the bar in Piltover. A figure emerged from the carnage, in shining black armor in kneeling position with his sword vertically embedded in the dirt. Adrenaline kicking in again, the Sheriff noticed the surprised cry of the announcer mixing in with the incredulous shouts of her Summoner, and Ezreal finally back, arriving by her side to investigate. The intruder stood up and plucked his weapon off the ground; his armor had a malicious look itself, as if it would devour you if it had the slightest chance. The whole plate was intricately shelled layer by layer, even the pauldrons and guards, creating a lightweight but amazingly flexible piece of equipment. The helmet was no better in the looks, with a trident visor glowing green with magic, malevolent in intentions. The neck was protected with a sturdy high collar, a veneer of bulkiness. His weapon was equally terrifying. A narrow blade, barely half the width of Garen's Justice, jet black glass with dark green runes, seemingly Noxian and somewhat similiar to the Exile's jagged sword. The new guest looked at the shocked Champions on the Field of Justice, his visor scanning through the faces, through defiance to stunned, and paused momentarily on Caitlyn, before settling on LeBlanc's pale face. Before the invader uttered a single word, the ten Champions in the Rift had already come to an agreement. Briefly discovering that she was no longer in connection with her Summoner, the Sheriff steeled herself. With a deafening roar, Aatrox leapt at the intruder, monstrous blade held high; The Exemplar of Demacia joined, jumping into the fray and terraforming the ground with what meager magic he possessed in his veins. The Grandmaster at Arms flipped his lamppost and yelled a battle cry, also springing into the battle. Garen Crownguard mounted his blade in the ground, summoning the might of Demacia out of the sky, aimed at the warrior. Caitlyn blindly fired into the terraformed arena with precise but careful shots, along with Shaco tossing his venom coated shivs. Ezreal fired a salvo of golden bolts along with Ashe and Fortune with their enchanted crystal arrows and barrages of bullets. The Deceiver sent illusionary chains towards the battle, attempting to trap the unwelcome guest. As the rubble retracted back into the ground and the dust settled, Jarvan IV was revealed, his head in the invader's hands. After whispering a phrase in his ear, the woundless warrior snapped his neck with an audible crunch, sending him back to the Nexus. The Darkin Blade was gripping his arm, now a diagonal gash visible, blood trailing down his forearm and painting a gruesome sight. His blade lay discarded a few meters away. The duelist turned back to LeBlanc, this time successfully addressing her.

"LeBlanc," he growled, his voice with a slight rasp in it.

"Ajax," LeBlanc hissed in reply, her voice even and betraying no emotion, although visibly frightened. LeBlanc was never frightened; the Deceiver, after all.

"The Black Rose must abandon their upcoming plans devised before Kalamanda. It will bring grave danger to Runeterra if executed." Ajax turned around talking to LeBlanc with his head turned halfway. "Relinquish control, or you will have to be eliminated like the others. Do not attempt to evade." Without another word, he vanished in another burst of emerald flames, just as he had arrived, leaving the hazardous corrosive sizzle, disturbingly similar to the scene in at Piltover.

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**Any comments, helpful information, and constructive criticism is deeply appreciated.**


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